


My endeavor with the priests boy

by If_you_had_had_a_sister



Series: The adventures of Edward Philbert’s childhood [1]
Category: 19th Century CE RPF, Historical RPF
Genre: 16-yo/13-14 yo, Christian Character, Christianity, Cuddling & Snuggling, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Persuasion - Freeform, Sleeping in the same bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:28:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 4
Words: 2,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28664733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/If_you_had_had_a_sister/pseuds/If_you_had_had_a_sister
Summary: When Edward Philbert needs help with his confirmation speech, the priests boy who should be pious and seems helpful, comes to the rescue.
Relationships: Edward Philbert/Joseph Moore, Original Character/Original Character
Series: The adventures of Edward Philbert’s childhood [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2104392





	1. Chapter 1

I live in a small town, in north of England.  
There are not many of us here, but there is the baker, the dairy, the carpenter and oh yeah, the priest. Everyone with their own special duties as citizens, everyone fitting neatly into the system we created for ourselves. Even I have a job of my own. It involves waking up early to bring out the milk for everyone, yes I’m the milk boy! It doesn’t take more than half an hour of work. I also feed the animals, and help pick the trees for fruit. Yes, my family owns one of the two farms here.

When people from the outside come in, they get the idea that we are poor, but actually we have food on the table for everyone and a roof stable over our heads, and for that I am grateful. There is even enough money , to put all of us in Sunday school, which is absolutely splendid!   
All six of us. 

We’re actually seven, you see, my oldest brother, Peter who’s eighteen soon, is currently in an apprenticeship with a blacksmith in London. Everyone is so proud of him, and for good reason! He works hard and sends money back every month. 

Next up is Frances at sixteen, she’s the milkmaid along another of the girls. I would also bet my one half-shilling that I keep under my pillow, that she sleeps with the butcher’s boy. I’ve seen her making some weird facial expression, whenever he walks by. She’s always in and out of the butcher’s all day, until mother has to drag her out over to the cow’s.

Then there’s Dora, she’s fourteen, and can sew, knit, spin and all sorts of wonderful things. She’s always sitting in the corner, doing some fiddlywork with her hands, never talking or looking, just sitting, maybe singing sometimes. She prefers to be alone, I think. 

Fanny, who’s eleven, is also a milkmaid and also involved in feeding and picking like me. Oftentimes she would much rather be out playing with the boys, but she’s not told anyone but me. 

Then there’s Samuel at just five, who has the responsibility of the geese and other such small animals along with Clara, a year younger than him. I think God gave them all the talking instead of Fanny, because they always talk like it was to be the last of their days, which proved to strike the anger of the priest in Sunday school.

I on the other hand, enjoyed Sunday school. I go to sit down and concentrate on remembering, spelling and when the day was over we would play in the yards together. But I also liked it because of the priest’s son, who was a few years older than me already having had his confirmation. I can’t really put my finger on it, but every time he walked around in the start of the lesson, giving out the books we had to read verses from, my heart always made extra loud thuds, and I became much more aware of myself and movements. The rush of emotions was over, when he moved to the next row of children. A shame he never could play with us after the day, he would always sit inside and look out on us. I would like to believe he looked at me the most, for some inescapable reason. I admit, I usually found myself very quiet, timid and not so talkative, much like my sister, Dora, but I felt even more shy when he was around.


	2. Chapter 2

The years passed on, everything as usual, till the day of my conformation was nigh. It had just been Dora’s a year earlier, so you can imagine, I was quite excited. Half a year after hers, I started going to the added church lessons for confirmands, though I was the only one. As I mentioned , we were not many people in my town and 1818 was not really a year, where many children were born, I suppose. 

Anyway, since I was the only student, the priest thought it better, that I took the lessons in his home. Maybe his son had requested it?  
The lessons were to be at Friday and Saturday evening, if I remember correctly, so I walked up through town, on Friday after I had completed all of my work for the day, with trembling fear. It was not so much the actual lessons, more the man, that, as I would figure out, always sat in his room, which was in the same hall as the priests small study, with the door wide open, so he could hear all the verses and rhymes I had spoke out. This made me frightened but also motivated me to do the best, I could to impress him. On the days the priest wasn’t in town (mostly because the elderly lady had an exorcism performed in her home, because she always insisted that her dead husband was talking to her. She would have been sent to an insane asylum if this was a bigger city, but we just decided to wait her out.) it was the priest boy himself. I assume his father found it fit, since it would put him in practice to take the role, when he himself had to let go of the position.  
The first time it was just me and him went something like this:

When I had arrived, instead of that I usually walked up to the study myself, he sat in the living room with a book, waiting for me. At the sight of my red faced and quivering person, he got up and followed me up to, not the study, but his own room. He walked behind me, breathing in my neck (even though he was a fully grown man, I had grown quite much).  
Then the painfully long time when he would let me in, wait for me to sit down and then sit down himself to hand me my books, all while staring, with an expression I didn’t understand, into my soul. 

“Edward Philbert, I suppose?”  
His deep voice, that I found oddly appealing, sounded.

“Yes, sir” I squeaked from my seat, clutching it, which turned my knuckles white. 

“Hm.” He let out a chuckling sound, probably due to my nervous mood.  
“I’m Joseph Moore, I assume you know me from Sunday school. I know, I remember you, with your beetroot red face and shaking in your seat, just as you are performing here. Say, what makes you behave this strange, boy?”

“I-I-“ I didn’t know what to answer. I just kept trembling and quivering.  
“I don’t know- it’s-I-“

“Hm, well then. Let’s begin, shall we?” And so we did, reading bible verses and the creed. When the day seemed to go to an end, and I almost could say all of the things from memory, he leaned over the table and looked at me up and down. He then took my chin in his hand and gently lifted my face, so I had no choice but to stare into his deep blue eyes. 

“Hm, now you only really need to write a speech.”  
Ah yes the speech. My dread.  
“I’ve seen you in Sunday school and- let’s just say, it doesn’t seem like writing is your strong side. To put it mildly. Is that true?”  
He watched me through half closed lids and with a little smirk on his face, remaining calm as always. 

“Yes, Sir.... I admit, my writing’s not that good. “

“I know, but that’s fine. That speech shall be written. And if you please, with the help of me. What say you?”

I smiled at him in relief and happiness. Oh god, he came in the perfect moment, saving me from the pain of writing!  
“Oh thank you, sir! That would be very thoughtful of you! Please do, it would be much appreciated!”

“Then that’s how it is. But every service requires services in return. “  
I supposed so. It didn’t strike me though, when he requested to help me,but if that’s how it works, I’ll have to follow the rules, right?  
“Yes of course, just say forth, I shall do anything!”

And that was how I found myself in the bed of a 16-year old priests son. Pulled close and tight, with arms around me.  
You see, the services was that I would be to lay in bed with him at night every Friday and Saturday.  
He had instructed me to go home and do the usual, until I thought it safe to silently get out of my bed, out the door and into the cold February night. I was to only be in my nightgown, which proved very cold to walk all the way from our house to the church building.  
I then had to climb up an apple tree that grew outside his window, then I could climb into his window and into the nice and warm sheets.

Contrary to my initial belief, it was quite comfortable to lay with another human being, especially one bigger and stronger than myself. I had snuggled into his chest for warmth and comfort, which I soon found when he embraced me. He would always insist though, that I took the inner side. This of course made me pressed flush against the wall and him, which I actually didn’t complain much about. 

At first it felt strange and unusual, but it was quite nice. On the days it was especially cold, I would wrap my legs around him, which, looking back, was a very lewd and very- unholy act. But I didn’t care, neither did he, even though he was a son of a priest. This existence was so wrong, but couldn’t help it. It pushed and pulled in my heart, I was addicted! I liked it so very much, but I didn’t dare tell him, out of embarrassment. He might think me gross or disgusting, and stop helping me and having me in his bed.


	3. Chapter 3

The day finally came, after many hours of reading both with the priest and his son, and laying in bed with him. I stood before the priest, in my nicest clothes, I remembered all the words, all the things I had to do in at the right times. I read the speech and tried to sound as though I know it in and out. It seemed to work, my proud parents and most of the town clapped and I bowed, smiling.  
We had a lot more to eat at dinner, baked potatoes, a big bread and a turkey, which we had to buy from the nearest town. I went full and warm to bed. 

The next morning was a Sunday morning, so I was early up to go Sunday school. I couldn’t concentrate as Joseph was constantly looking at me, not my eyes but clearly in my direction. I tried to make eye contact, but he didn’t seem to return it. When the lessons came to an end and I got up to go out and play, i was stopped by a firm hand on my shoulder. Strong, long and lean fingers, a familiar breath on the back of my neck. The breath moved from my neck to my ear and down to the base of my neck. A little kiss on my shoulder shoulder and a purr in my ear.   
“You can’t go now. You still have services to attend to.”  
“But, Sir.. I thought since... you kn-“  
“Shhh, boy. I know you like it. The way you cling to me, you’re always on time, never too late. Always so eager. Just admit it” he whispered to me in the barren church, with the rain thudding on the roof and the light from the mosaics, whenever a lightning came.   
His hands held my face and kissed my jaw slowly and tenderly. I liked it, yes, it sent shivers of pleasure donwn my spine, and though I was naive, I still sensed a whiff of danger. It didn’t seem safe, that ordeal. I grabbed his wrists in eagerness, I decided to go with it anyway.  
After all, I could always say no, right?


	4. Chapter 4

I don’t remember how it happened, but he had somehow persuaded me into consent. I do remember that he always brought back the speech, as a means of an excuse.   
“Come on, everything has it’s price. You can’t say no now, boy.”

And then he would push and pull my clothes, my hair and my body until it felt like, I was being split in half. Tears escaped me helplessly, everything hurt and pressed uncomfortably. I begged him to stop, but he always said, I had brought it upon myself. Oh but the pain! It was unbearable. When he stopped, I felt gross, sticky and broken. Looking back, he had taken my vulnerability and abused it. Him! The priests son, sodding around with boys way younger than himself. I didn’t return to his bed after that. 

But I felt wrong, and hurt, like I didn’t keep my promise. Oh I was such a terrible person! Every Sunday school when we would make eye contact and he would stare disappointed in me, it worked and I felt ashamed. I couldn’t step into any bed months after the incident, without the memories coming back. I would twist and turn to try and fall asleep, but it was useless, it would take me hours to fall asleep, and when I did my dreams were haunted with it. I believe it was the only thing I dreamt for that time. But it was my own fault, I had believed I could just say no, and he would respect, but apparently he was smarter and older than me.   
I couldn’t tell anyone they would abandon me, so I hid it between laughters and smiles and conversations, hid it with all my might. But it still tore. I was still messed up. My body hurt days after, I couldn’t walk but I did and every step was a reminder of him and my stupidity. Stupid, stupid, stupid boy I was! I silently cried myself to sleep most nights, thinking of him and the things he had done. I thought him handsome, trustworthy, everything I could dream of, but he had proved otherwise, and it was all my fault. I didn’t deserve this, I got away with much less than what he could have given me, I was lucky.   
Some pain and a bit of blood, could have been worse. 

My existence was like that for the next months, in pain, both physically and emotionally. I never told a soul, never have, not even my wife or best of friends. It still haunts me at times, when I hear stories of young girls or boys being sold like that for money. 

Again, it could have been worse.  
I was lucky.


End file.
